


Red Velvet

by Tashilover



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Biting, Blood, Vampire AU, horror themes, non/dub con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-28
Updated: 2015-05-30
Packaged: 2018-03-26 06:17:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3840214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tashilover/pseuds/Tashilover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You'll like this one, Douglas."</p><p>"Oh, why is that?"</p><p>"He's a pilot."</p><p> </p><p>Vampire AU. Based off a prompt in the CP meme.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Douglas honestly did not know where the idea of the sexy vampires came to be. Most vampires were created out of accident, usually by dumb young idiots who had no idea what they were doing or the responsibility that came along with it.

If given a choice, Douglas himself would've preferred not to spend all of existence at the age of fifty-six. But alas, his sire damned him to an eternity with grey hair and a round middle. Four hundred years and counting.

Still, that didn't mean longevity didn't have its perks. Douglas learned the piano, how to sing, cook, dance, fly a plane, and now spoke sixteen different languages. Maybe in another six hundred years when he's learned everything he wanted to learn, then he'll be ready to die. He still wanted to go into outer space, climb Mount Everest, and punch a mime in the face.

Unfortunately, being a vampire also require him to come to stupid vampires-only parties every single year. There, he would be forced to mingle with the new and old, listening to their pretentious babble about being the 'superior species' and other fucking nonsense.

Vampire parties were also nothing more than slaughter houses.

For most of these poor humans here, they came under their own power, disillusioned into thinking they might become vampires themselves. By the time they realized they were only here to be food, it was already too late. Others were brought here thinking it was just a party, and some were kidnapped right off the street.

Douglas had already missed the massacre and he was glad for it. The terrified screams of young women and men was not something he wanted to get used to. As he walked into the club, he was greeted by flashing lights, bad music and the stench of fresh, spilled blood in the air.

He passed a group of vampires as they fed on some poor man. He was barely breathing at this point, though his eyes were wide open in stark horror. He had multiple bite marks all over his body and he was pale as snow.

They were already piling the bodies of many others into one corner, which will be gathered later on to be buried or burned. No point of keeping a vampire life style if the police kept finding large groups of blood-less corpses.

A human woman in a scantily-clad dress came near Douglas, holding up a tray of flute glasses filled with brandy mixed with blood. She had multiple bite marks on her shoulders and arms, but she wasn't one for eating, only tasting. Someone planned to turn her tonight after she was finished with her waitressing duties.

While vampires couldn't drink alcoholic drinks straight from the bottle, mixing them with blood helped it keep it down. Douglas, who often drank cow blood from local butchers, relished the glass. Drinking human blood was a great way to trigger a lust, but Douglas was going to need the boost in a few seconds. His sire was right ahead.

"Douglas!" Jules cooed, throwing his arms wide for a hug. "How good it is to see you!"

Jules was turned when he was forty-two. By then he already passed his youth, his skin sagged from wrinkles, he was bald, and the hair he had left was already going grey.

His hands were soaked in blood.

"Hello, Jules," Douglas said, going in for the hug but in only polite gesture. He barely touched the man before moving back. "How are you?"

"A little bored," he admitted, sighing. "I was hoping this party tonight would last a little longer, but then some young idiot decided he couldn't stand his hunger any longer and started eating his date. That spurred the others on and... ugh, the DJ was really good too. Oh well, what can you do?"

Douglas hummed, not really caring.

"But! That's not the reason why I'm here. I got you a surprise!"

Great. Last time Jules got Douglas a surprise, it was a tiger. Jules broke into a zoo and stole a tiger for him.

He clapped a hand around Douglas' shoulder, then steered him away from the others, going towards the back rooms. "Now, I heard through the grapevine you're a pilot nowawdays."

"Not really a secret," Douglas said. "I've been a pilot for the past twenty years now."

Jules waved that away. "That's what I've always liked about you, Douglas. You're so adventerous. Other vampires use their immortality to simply drink and have sex and generally act like children, doing whatever they want without consequences."

"Like you."

"I know! That's why I admire you so much! You use your time to learn, to grow, to change. But sometimes I feel you work yourself too hard. You need to learn to have fun, to loosen up."

Douglas could've told him he and Carolyn and Martin had kidnapped a billionaire drunk under the delusion they were taking him to Timbuktu, but that really wasn't his business. Sire or not, Jules wasn't a person Douglas wanted in his intimate affairs. "I have fun."

"Not vampire fun," Jules said, leading him further and further back into the building. "Sometimes you need to remind yourself who you are and what you do. So I decided to get you a present."

"A present."

"You're a pilot..." Jules began to grin, showing off his fangs. "And I just so happened to come upon a pilot when I was coming here tonight. You'll like him, he tastes great."

Douglas closed his eyes. Though it wasn't his fault, he still felt responsible for the poor fool who happened to be in the wrong place, the wrong time. He was probably getting off of work when Jules just noticed him and decided, 'why the hell not?'

They got to a set of swinging doors. "He's in here," Jules said, reaching out to push them open.

"I'm going have to decline," Douglas said. "I do have a flight tomorrow morning and I need my beauty sleep. If I drink too much tonight, I am not going to be able to get up in the morning."

Jules paused, frowning dramatically like a cartoon character. "Are you sure? I made sure he was kept from the others the whole night, just for you."

"I'm fine, thanks."

"Alright, if that's what you want. You're so hard to shop for, Douglas." His sire blew a kiss at him, then turned and pushed the doors opened. "More for me, then!"

The doors swung wide, giving Douglas a brief glance inside to the room. There were a few boxes pushed up against the wall, a large sink, and chained to one of the exposed pipes on the wall was whom Douglas assumed was the poor pilot.

Just as he turned to leave, he caught a glimpse of the pilot's red hair. Douglas stopped, dread pooling in his gut. "No..."

He pushed through the doors, hoping he was wrong. He wasn't.

Martin was cowering away, his shackles hands raised up, doing their best to shield himself as Jules menacingly advanced on him like some kind of goddamn... vampire. Martin had a visible bite mark on his neck, with dried blood coating the collar of his shirt.

Douglas didn't even think about his next move. "I want him."

At Douglas' voice, Martin snapped his head up, his mouth falling open in disbelief. He almost said his name, but Douglas quickly gave him a cut-off motion with his hand. Just in time too; Jules turned around as soon as his hand went back down. "Really, Douglas? You just gave away your gift and now you want it back?"

If there was any moment Martin had found Douglas' presence reassuring, it was gone now. His eyes grew wide with fear, realizing right there that his First Officer was a goddamn blood-sucking vampire.

If Douglas' heart could still beat, it would be thumping wildly in his chest at that moment. He hoped Martin kept his silence while he talked. "I suppose my eyes are better than my ears. I didn't know the pilot you got me would be so... cute. Like a puppy."

Though he was chained, bitten, bleeding and scared out of his wits, Martin still bristled indignantly at the puppy comment.

"I suppose you're right," Jules said, studying Martin. "If you're into that sort of thing. Alright then, I'll give him back to you."

Douglas internally breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you."

He said it in such a way that signaled he wanted to stop talking and go eat, but Jules didn't move from his spot.

"I want to see your reaction," Jules said. "I want to see your eyes light up when you take that first bite. The boy is quite a treat."

"Thank you for the gift, Jules, but I-"

"I insist," he said with a snap of his teeth. He wasn't grinning anymore.

No matter how little love Douglas had for Jules, the man was still his sire. And in some ways, his _master_. If it came down to a fight, Jules would win, easily.

Poor Martin would end up going to the winner and there was no doubt in Douglas' head Jules would rip his throat out in a haze of blood lust.

"Alright," Douglas said evenly to keep the peace. "Let's see if he's as good as you said..."

As Douglas moved past Jules, Martin shook his head, begging silently. He did his best to move further back, but the shackles only dug deeper into his already raw skin. He flinched as Douglas kneeled down in front of him.

'Don't fight me,' Douglas mouthed. 'Keep silent.'

He slowly moved his hands forward, choreographing his every action, and still Martin tried to keep out of his reach. The boy jerked as Douglas got his collar and pulled it down better to reveal the bite.

It was an ugly bite. It looked like Jules had bit into Martin, then shook him like a dog would with a chew toy. If gentle enough, a person would only walk away with minimum scarring on their neck. This will leave something a lot more noticeable.

Doulgas would prefer not to re-bite this wound- sloppy seconds and all that- but he didn't want to give more scars than necessary.

He leaned forward.

"Please..." Martin begged quietly. "Don't..."

Douglas hovered over Martin's bloody, bruised neck. He opened his mouth, extended his fangs and bit in.

Martin jerked and Douglas cupped the back of his head to keep him still. Bites felt different from person to person. They were like tattoos: some people could barely handle the pain, others were indifferent to it, and some found exquisite pleasure in it. Judging from the way Martin was shaking, clenching his teeth to keep himself from screaming, it was the first.

Slowly, Douglas took the first drink.

He thought Jules was exaggerating. Fresh human blood was always delicious and having some after such a long period of drinking chilled cow blood was a treat. The moment Martin's blood hit his tongue, he groaned.

It was like velvet: thick and warm and filling. Oh good god, how could Douglas have gone his whole life without knowing what this tasted like?

He'd only meant to take one sip, enough to satisfy Jules and send him on his way. But Douglas found himself taking another sip, then another, and he pulled Martin closer to him, bitting in even deeper.

A small voice in the back of his head started yelling at him. _Stop!_ It said. _You're hurting him!_

It was barely audible but it did force him to pause. To think. Like waking up from a dream, Douglas achingly retracted his fangs from Martin's neck and moved back.

The human body had enough blood to fill two large jugs. It would take a lot more than a few mouthfuls to kill someone. That didn't mean the victim was going to walk away unscathed.

Martin was practically limp in Douglas' arms. He was still conscious, though clearly light-headed, confused, and uncoordinated. His eyes drifted aimlessly from underneath his dropping lids. Douglas laid a hand on his cheek, ready to slap it gently to rouse him.

"Delicious, wasn't it?" Jules said suddenly.

Douglas' shoulders hunched, his dead heart nearly brought back to life by the surprise. He'd forgotten Jules was still there.

"I don't blame you for nearly draining him dry," he continued, sighing. "But I wanted to give him to you as a gift. I do highly suggest you keep him around a little bit longer. Who knows when's the next time you'll get someone as refined as him."

"Yes..." Douglas shakily drew the back of his hand across his lips to wipe off the excess blood. He had to resist from licking up the smear from his skin. "Thank you..."

"I'm glad you enjoyed him. Now if you'll excuse me, there's a waitress I had promise to turn tonight."

He gave a little wave with his fingers as a goodbye and left the room.

Douglas waited for a few seconds, making sure he was not going to come back. He then turned back to Martin, cupping his face worryingly. "Martin? Martin, are you okay?"

His eyes were closed and Douglas thought he was unconscious. Quietly, he mumbled out, "Don't touch me..."

He wasn't going to be happy for the next few days, but he'll be fine. "I'm going to get you out of here," Douglas said, grabbing the chain of Martin's shackles. He snapped them as easily as someone tearing off a loose thread. Now free, he hauled one of Martin's arms over his shoulder, and pulled him up.

There was hell to pay later. For now though, "Let's get you home."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I have no self control. Hee.

Martin leaned his head against the window, relishing the coolness against his skin. All he wanted to do in that moment was nod off, sleep for a hundred years, but his body wouldn't let him. He was too wound up to sleep, too afraid to see what his dreams could be. He has never been one for night terrors, but after all he's experienced in the past few hours, he was sure the nightmares waiting for him were going to haunt him until the day he died.

Which may be soon, he believed.

He jumped when the driver's side door suddenly opened and Douglas slid. In his hands he held a bag of McDonalds and a cup. "Here," he said, holding it out for Martin to take.

When Martin didn't move, Douglas said, "You need to eat. You need sugar and protein in your system."

There was no denying Martin was hungry. When he got home and walked up the terrance to his flat, something swooped down upon him and swept him off into the night. That was nearly six hours ago and Martin was starving.

Achingly he took the bag and drink from Douglas. On any other day Martin would have enjoyed this; last time he had McDonalds was last year on his birthday. Eating take-away was just too expensive for him. Having it on a regular, non-special day AND having Douglas pay for it was great.

As Martin took a long, slow sip of his coke, Douglas turned on the car.

"Are..." Martin swallowed thickly. "Are you just fattening me up?"

Douglas sighed and pulled onto the street. "No."

"Then what are you doing?"

"Taking you home."

"Alive?"

"Yes."

Martin took another sip. "What about those other people?"

"They came to that place on their own."

"I heard them _screaming_ , Douglas. I'm pretty sure getting eaten was not part of their evening plans!"

He shrugged. "Either way, I can't help them."

"Pull over. I'm going to the police."

"And tell them what, exactly? That vampires are real?"

"I have a _bite_ on my _neck!_ "

"They'll say you were bitten by a dog."

"So-so-so-so what? Am I just suppose to forget about those poor people?"

"They're drifters, Martin. Tourists. Students. Young people from the other side of the country, looking for a good time. Do you know how many people go missing every day? I'm sure they'll be missed, but none of them will be so high profile that their disapperance will make headline news."

"That's cruel."

"It is what it is. If you try to fight this, Martin, you will die. There are more of us out there than you think, and if they believe you to be a threat, they will kill you. And me, for allowing you to live."

Martin didn't speak again for a few minutes. He spent that time digging through the McDonald's bag and munching woefully on the hamburger. Halfway through the sandwich, he then asked quietly, _"Why did you let me live?"_

"Believe it or not, Martin," Douglas said. "I do consider you my friend."

"You fed on me."

"I did it to save your life. Had I not, Jules would've drained you."

"And you? How many people have you killed?"

Douglas glanced over to him, then back to the road, and with an irritated sigh, pulled over to the emergency lane. He parked, and once he flipped on his lights, he turned in his seat to face Martin. "You want the truth? Fine then. Yes, I've killed a lot of people. Hundreds, in fact. I've killed to feed. I've killed in self-defense. I've also killed for my country. Did you know I fought in both World Wars? Nowadays, though? Not so much. I haven't need to kill in nearly forty years, but if I have to, I will, with no hesitation or remorse. Is this answer you want, Martin? Are you trying to convince yourself I am the monster every child fears and you should hate and fear me?"

It was as if Martin was trying to make himself look smaller. He hunched in on himself, turning his head away, a slight tinge of red on his cheeks.

Suddenly he blinked and said, "Wait, World War? How _old_ are you?"

Douglas groaned.


	3. Chapter 3

Martin gently patted down the side of his neck with a damp clothe. He grimaced every time he pulled it away to wash it, his gut seizing at the sight of his blood staining the white rag. In front of him, Douglas pulled his phone away from his ear.

"Alright," he said. "Carolyn is... miffed that you are sick, but understands you will be unavailable for the rest of the week."

Martin said nothing and continued to clean himself. They were in his attic and though it should represent safety and warmth, Martin wanted to escape. The lock on his door was flimsy, his window could easily be smashed in. Douglas assured him there was no such things as werewolves or boogeymen, a few hours ago there was also no such thing as vampires either. So who knew what the truth was.

"Here," Douglas said, pulling up a chair in front of him and sitting down. "Let me see..."

Martin thought about fighting. He had a few wooden utensils in his drawer- presents from his mother - and he thought about grabbing one and shoving it into Douglas' heart. A wooden stake through the heart, right? But Martin has seen Douglas in full daylight, handling cloves of garlic, and he has never flinched away from Carolyn's golden cross necklace. What if the vampire lore about wooden stakes was wrong too?

He didn't fight as Douglas pulled down his collar to expose the bite more. Taking the clothe from Martin, he started dabbing the wound gently, wiping away the leftover dried blood. "It's not going to be pretty, but you'll be fine," he said. He put down the clothe and opened the small home-medical kit. "Take this whole week off to recover from the blood loss."

"I can't," Martin said. "I have my van job-"

"You're too weak to be carrying around furniture."

"Unlike you, I don't _eat_ people, I actually have to pay for my food!"

He bit down on his lips. It was probably not a good idea to insult the vampire.

"Actually," Douglas said as he dabbed a cotton ball with alcohol. "You're the first person I've fed on in ten years. I usually buy cow blood from the butchers."

The cotton ball was gently pressed against the bite, and Martin gritted his teeth from the sudden sting. "Still doesn't change the fact I can't take time off work. If I don't work, I don't get paid, and I don't get to eat. It's as simple as that."

"I'll take on your van jobs. It'll be easy, I'm stronger than you anyhow."

"I don't want your charity."

"I'd suggest getting Arthur, but we all know how that went last time. If you try to work, you'll pass out, get sent to the hospital and then you'll have to explain to hospital staff why you're missing half a pint of blood. End of story."

Once he cleaned the wound, Douglas tapped gauze against Martin's neck. In a very quiet tone, Martin said, "I'm going to tell the police what happened."

"Martin-"

"Shut up and listen," Martin snapped. "I understand if... if I put myself out there, someone might come after me. I get it. But... I can't ignore this. I heard their pleas, begging them to let them go. I don't know how you can stand that, Douglas. They sounded like _children_ , and I... I just can't do nothing!"

For vampires, death was a complicated thing. There were times when Douglas was completely numb to it. Tragedies happened all the time. Douglas remembered the witch hunts, the Black Death, the sinking of the Titanic and a thousand other events. There was no point in feeling sad for these strangers' deaths when most of them should be dead by now from old age anyhow.

But to be the Douglas Richardson of this era, Douglas needed to make friends. He needed to make connections with people and have them be real. He wasn't lying when he said Martin was his friend- he was. If something happened to him, Douglas would mourn him.

However, in two hundred years, it would be pure luck if Douglas even remembered his name.

"Alright..." Douglas said, defeated. "How 'bout I... call in an anonymous tip? I can't give a guarantee if the police will find something, but who knows. Maybe they'll get lucky."

It was really the best option for everyone. Unless Martin wanted to become a vampire hunter, there was nothing else he could.

Mutely, Martin nodded.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Before driving home, Douglas called in the tip through an old, barely-working pay phone. If only to give Martin some relief for the unknown victims, Douglas also named a few possible places where the vampires planned to burn the bodies. Through DNA and dental records, half of the bones found should be identified just fine.

He got home just shy of two in the morning. He had some of Martin's blood splattered on his shirt but he didn't take a shower first. Instead, Douglas shuffled into his kitchen, opened the fridge and pulled out his jug of cow blood.

He wasn't that hungry, wouldn't be for days. He needed something to wash the taste of Martin out of his mouth and brushing his teeth wouldn't cut it.

After pouring himself a glass, Douglas took a long, slow drink.

He slammed the cup down, spilling the contents all over his knuckles and immediately slapped a hand over his mouth. He rushed to the sink, gagging so badly that blood seeped through his fingers, and as soon as he turned on the faucet full blast, he allowed himself to hack and cough. He rinsed out his mouth, spitting out the blood as fast as he could.

Once he was done, he turned off the water and stumbled away from the sink, gasping and still fighting the urge to gag. The whole front of his shirt was wet, stained pink from the blood.

That was like _**shit**_.

It was like someone took shit, mixed in more shit, topped it with fresh shit, and then dyed it red and gave it to Douglas.

The blood wasn't old, Douglas only bought two days ago. Once he wiped his lips clean, he double-checked the blood to be sure. It looked fine, it smelled fine. He dapped a finger against the jug's edge and licked the red smear off his finger.

"Gah!" He hissed in disgust.

What was wrong with him? What was-

Suddenly, Douglas knew. He's heard of stories like this, of vampires coming across a human so delicious, so unique, nothing else could compare. There were rumours this happened to Dracula. When it should have been smarter to run, he couldn't, not after tasting Mina. Her blood drove him insane.

By tasting Martin, Douglas had ruined himself.

Oh god, he was so fucked.


	4. Chapter 4

He tried not to panic.

As of right now, Douglas had no desire to hunt down Martin and drain him. The ache of wanting to taste his blood again was there, there was no denying that, but it was like a sore muscle kind of pain. It was there, and for the moment, it was ignorable.

He spent the next day flying the plane alone, dodging Arthur's insistant questions about what happened to Martin. Overall, it was no different than the time when Martin had got sick from the flu or when he took that extra day off for his twisted ankle. It was a simple flight and there nothing spectacular about it.

When Douglas got back into his car later that day, he was surprised to see he got a text from Martin.

_'What can I use to defend myself from vampires?'_

On any other day, Douglas would have teased Martin mercilessly about this text. He could get a whole week worth's from this one question, and even now he thought about dressing up in a dark cape and using fake fangs the next time he saw his young Captain.

With a sigh of things lost, Douglas texted back, _'Why? Do you plan to slay me?'_

Martin didn't respond for another forty minutes. Douglas used this time to put more petrol in his car, paid off a credit card bill and then drove home. Just as he climbed the steps to his house, his phone pinged.

_'I just want to protect myself.'_

In his mind, Douglas had the image of Martin debating what word to use as not to offend or imply. Forty minutes for a six word sentence. Once inside his home, Douglas texted back, _'As you can probably guess, most of the Hollywood tropes are false.'_

_'Garlic and crosses were fueled by vampires themselves hundreds of years ago to distract humans from the real weapons.'_

_'Silver burns vampires. Real silver, not stirling, not nickel, no other metals mixed in. Pure silver, got it?'_

_'Cutting off the head is a pretty good way to stop a vampire too. Like a zombie.'_

_'PS, there are no such things as zombies.'_

_'That I know of.'_

Douglas made a face. In his six hundred years of living he has never come across a zombie, witch, ghost or anything else that supposedly bumped in the night. Then again, if vampires were real, then zombies were a possibility.

This time it only took Martin ten minutes to reply. _'I have a silver chain my mother gave me for Christmas years ago. Will this be sufficient?'_

' _Yes,'_ Douglas replied. ' _Just remember you have to actually touch the vampire with the silver. Waving it in their face is not going to help.'_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter but an important one.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Non-consensual biting, drug references, thoughts about non-con, and corpse defilement.

Douglas experimented with goat's blood. Sheep's blood. Pig's blood. He even went so far to catch one of the rats scurrying around in his basement. Douglas hadn't eaten a rat since the 1700's. Someone had accused him of being 'odd' and Douglas was forced curb back his feeding.

Rat blood was not the tastiest thing in the world. It was like having a bowl of cereal when you were really in the mood for pizza. It'll fill you but it won't satisfy you.

It didn't matter. Like the cow's blood, everything tasted like shit.

There was always the option of eating an actual human being. There was still time before the ache in Douglas' stomach grew strong and stronger. There were also blood banks he could steal from, even though that always made him feel like a boogeyman stealing candy from a baby.

That's how Douglas found himself in an opium shooting gallery two weeks later.

He walked past several people, young and old, either in the process of shooting up or were basking in the high. Most of them ignored him, though quite a few did give him wary glares, scooting away from him when he glanced in their direction. He probably should have dressed down a bit, not look like he was going for an afternoon stroll through the park.

He spotted one young man, away from the others in a corner, who was in the midst of coming down from his high. The boy was fairly young and handsome too. Attractiveness did not affect the quality of the blood, it only made drinking from that person a little more pleasant.

Drugs also did not affect the blood. Not height, weight, gender, disease or blood type. There were some vampires out there who swore up and down there was a taste difference between them all, but Douglas has never seen it. Which only made Martin's blood that much more baffling. Martin was not the first skinny, red haired man he's eaten. What made him so unique? As far as Douglas knew, Martin was your average, healthy, thirty-something year old.

Douglas could find that out later. For now, he needed to see if human blood was off-limits to him as well.

He kneeled down in front of the young man who stared up at him with tired, red eyes. The boy didn't fight as Douglas reached out and grasped his arm, pulling it towards him.

"Hey..." he said, swallowing. Douglas rolled up his sleeve to expose the forearm. "What are you doing?"

"Don't scream," Douglas said, then descended with an open mouth.

The boy gave a small, confused cry of pain as Douglas bit into him. He made no effort to pull back or fight against him and only squirmed in discomfort.

Douglas wretched his head away a second later, spitting and cursing. "Fuck," he muttered, twisting to the side to get that god-awful taste out of his mouth.

"Why did you do that?" The boy asked sourly, gingerly holding his bitten arm to himself. "That _hurt_."

"You'll be fine," Douglas muttered, getting up.

 

 

 

 

 

 

In the following weeks Martin kept a close eye on the news. The day after Douglas sent in his anonymous tip, the police found the pile of bones the vampires were unable to burn properly. Martin was disgusted to hear instead of burying them in a proper setting, the rat bastards simply tied them in bags and threw them into bins just outside of a random building.

So far the police have managed to identify only three of the bone sets and were now investigating their last days, trying to figure out who they with and where. Martin stopped following the story once it was made public that some of the bones had bite marks, leading investigators to believe the victims were attacked by animals before they died.

The bite on Martin's neck forced him to get stitches, and for this he was glad. With the stitches the scarring would be less noticeable. When asked by his doctor what happened, Martin said he was attacked by a dog.

"Hmmm... seems like a lot of people are getting attacked by animals these days," his doctor said while he disenfected the wound before stitching. "You're lucky. Had this bite been a half a inch higher, that dog would've pierced your artery."

Martin wondered if Douglas knew that.

As instructed, Martin started wearing the silver chain his mother gave him 24/7 now. Besides his father's ring, Martin preferred not to wear jewelry. He didn't like the feel of it, he didn't like the weight of it on his neck. It was such a thin chain too. The only reason he got it was because his mum had already given Simon and Caitlin other valuable family heirlooms. Simon got a rare book, and Caitlin got a delicate glass figurine. "Maybe you can sell it," his mother suggested.

After a week of recovering, Martin went back to work. He covered his neck with a bright green ascot, for which Carolyn teased him about until he showed her why. As a show of apology, the next day she presented him with three new ascots, colour matching his uniform.

Arthur bought him more chocolate than he could handle, stating that chocolate was good for recovery. He also bought Martin iron pills and iron lug nuts. At Martin's confusion, Arthur explained, "I know you can't eat them, but maybe if you rub them on your skin, the iron will seep through!"

Martin and Douglas carried on as normal.

As promised, Douglas did carry out the van jobs. He would go out in the morning and come back in the afternoon, wordlessly handing over the keys. Payment was done over the internet, so Martin thankfully didn't have to worry about Douglas handling the money.

Since the texts asking about the vampire defenses, neither of them had spoken about that particular night. When Martin came back to work, Douglas had given the silver chain a quick glance but said nothing of it.

After three weeks the stitches on Martin's neck dissolved away. He continued wearing the ascots, if only because he had got used to them and now felt naked without them.

Today he was wearing one of his favourites: a lovely blue and white stripped ascot made out of silk. Carolyn had gone the extra mile to buy the silk as not to irritate his skin. He had worn it for most of the flight. After finishing his coffee, he unconsciously took of the ascot when he started to overheat.

"Your neck looks better."

"Hmmm?" Martin looked over to Douglas. "What?"

"Your neck," Douglas repeated. "I'm always amazed by how far medical techniques have come. When I was your age, so many people died from infection alone, it was a damn miracle I even lasted to this age. My original age, I mean. I was fifty-four when I was turned."

This was first mention of Douglas being a vampire in nearly a month. Martin had almost forgotten it. Their interactions had been so normal, it was like nothing happened between them. Suddenly the warm, comfortable feeling Martin had been basking in turned cold.

"I don't want to talk about it," Martin said. He quickly put back on the ascot.

"We do need to talk about," Douglas said.

"No, we don't. What's done is done and I want to forget about it."

"I want to apologize."

Martin whipped his head towards him harshly. "What?"

"For biting you," Douglas said. "Martin, I just want you to know, if I had any other choice, I wouldn't have done it. I said some harsh things that night and... despite what I said, I don't enjoy hurting people. Especially not my friends. I hope you can forgive me."

Embarrassed by the sincerity, Martin turned away. His ears pinked. "I... I don't know if I can, Douglas. You did more than bite me. You made me _afraid_. Afraid of my friend, of my colleague, of my First Officer. I've never been a religious person, but now I feel like my entire existence has been put into question. What's next? Is the Loch Ness monster real? Big Foot? This scar on my neck will forever remind me that everything I've ever learned... may be false."

Douglas was quiet for a long moment.

"I understand," he said finally. "And I'm sorry for... well, all of that."

They continued to fly the plane in awkward silence. Martin chewed his lip, wishing to drop the subject entirely but something kept bothering him.

"Why..." he cleared his throat. "Why do you sound like... the way you talked. It sounded so _final_. Like you know the end was coming or something."

"Don't worry," Douglas said. "Everything is fine."

"You sound like crap," Martin snapped at him. "Like you have a cold. Are you sick? Can vampires get sick?"

"No-"

"If you're not sick, then what's wrong with you?"

"I thought you didn't want to talk about this."

"So it is a vampire issue."

Douglas said nothing.

"Douglas-"

"Eyes front, Captain," he said. "We're going to land in another ten minutes and we need to start descending."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Martin wouldn't let it go. Douglas' words kept echoing over and over in his brain, worrying him more and more by the second. For the first time in his life, Martin decided to forgo the paperwork and ran after Douglas, catching him before he made it to his car.

He grabbed Douglas by the arm, halting him. Martin has touched Douglas' skin before, always assumed his cold flesh was due to Gerti's over enthusiastic air conditioning. Now, on this warm summer day, his pale, cold skin was all too obvious.

"I don't like that tone in your voice," Martin said. "You sound like... I don't want to find out something _happened_ tomorrow. Tell me what's going on."

"Martin-"

"Look, I was cold on the plane and I'm sorry. You wanted to tell me something and I can see that. So... tell me."

Now that Martin was looking straight at him and not side-eying him like he had for the past few days, Douglas seemed more lethargic than usual. He was actually swaying lightly on his feet. Good lord, he flew the plane like this?

With a sigh, Douglas said finally, "I'm hungry."

"Oh," Martin said, releasing his arm and taking a step back. "You mean for-?"

"For blood. Yes, Martin."

"Oh," he said again. "Then why don't you...? You said you drank animal blood before, right? So why don't you... I don't know, go to a butcher-"

"I tried. I can't anymore."

"Why not?"

"It doesn't matter," Douglas said. It sounded like it took more effort than usual for him to speak. "Let this go."

Martin frowned. He was slowly putting things together in his head. "When's the last time you ate?" He gasped, realizing. He slapped a hand over his neck "It's me! You haven't eaten since you fed on me!"

"Good lord." Douglas rolled his eyes, and then turned to climb into his car. He ignored Martins protests, closing the door behind him.

Martin immediately crossed over, opened the passenger door and got in.

"For fuck's sake, Martin!" Douglas snapped wearily. "Get out!"

"Not until you tell me why you haven't eaten in nearly a month!"

"This doesn't concern you!"

"Clearly this does!"

Douglas gripped the steering wheel, groaning his frustration into the smooth black leather. "You're delicious."

Martin balked. "What?"

"Have you ever had a pizza from a favourite restaurant?" Douglas asked, turning to him. "You ate it all the time, then one day, you decided to have a different pizza at a different restaurant. That different pizza was so delicious, though you tried to go back to your old, favourite place, the pizza tasted mediocre to you? Now that you've had better, you could never go back?"

Martin kept staring at him. "You think I'm _pizza_?"

"I'm saying you're the _better_ pizza!" Douglas said. "I've tired to drink cow blood, but it all tastes like crap to me now. And it's not just cow blood, I've tried pig, and goat, and last week, I tried human. Nothing can compare to you. I can't even keep the blood down. If I force myself to swallow, I vomit immediately. I'm... I'm starving to death here, Martin. And-and I know that's not your fault. That's why... I think I only have about a week before I..."

He trailed off. Douglas has never felt so pathetic in such a long time. He's been living for over six hundred years and yet the prospect of death scared him. He didn't know if there was a heaven or hell, and if there was, which would he be sent to? It was not his fault he was sired, but he's killed plenty of people. Good people, people who didn't deserve it.

He's always known vampires could be starved to death. It didn't happen often. It was mostly used as a punishment for wayward vampires who rebelled against their sire. They would be thrown into a coffin or some kind of container and were buried alive. Sometimes they were dug up, sometimes they weren't. If they survived the ordeal, they were forgiven, but nine times out of ten all that was left in the coffin was a pile of ash.

Martin said something, but Douglas was too deep in his melancholy to hear it the first time. "Huh?"

"I said," Martin repeated. "How much do you actually need to survive?"

Douglas blinked. Hunger must be making him stupid because did Martin just imply-?

"You're not biting me on the neck!" Martin hissed. He started to shrug out of his jacket. He rolled up his sleeve to the crook of his elbow. "Just take what you need to survive, okay? I don't want to take another week off."

He held his arm out.

It took everything Douglas had not to reach out, rip that arm off and sink his teeth into the pale, soft flesh. He wanted to run his tongue over those small freckles, squeeze his arm until the veins popped out in blues and purples.

He should argue, tell Martin he's being foolish. They were alone. They were so alone in this car, and it would be so easy to overpower this little human and feed on him until he stopped moving.

"Thank you..." Douglas said quietly. There was no way he could fight this, not when it was being offered to him so willingly. He grasped Martin's arm and slowly leaned down. "Thank you... I'll try not take too much..."

Positioning his mouth right below the elbow, Douglas bit in.

Sweet, beautiful blood rolled into his mouth. Oh god, it was so good. It tasted even better than last time. Douglas full-on purred, feeling the blood rush to every part of his body, reviving him. Yes, yes, yes, nothing could compare. How crazy must he be, thinking he could go back to cow's blood after this. It was tempting, it was so tempting to crawl upon Martin and bite that lovely, pale neck again. To rut against him, make him hard, to encourage the brain to make endorphins and have the blood be that much sweeter. Douglas should do that. Why was he denying himself that pleasure? He was a fucking vampire, an elite species, and he should not have to contain himself because of a single human being who could barely fly a fuckin' aeroplane-

Douglas pulled back. He couldn't resist swiping his tongue one last time over the arm, collecting up the rising blood. As Martin pulled away, pressing his pocket handkerchief against the bite, Douglas sucked on his teeth, savouring the last dregs of blood in his mouth.

He groaned, feeling renewed. Healthy, for the first time in a month. He was still hungry. He didn't take as much as he did the last time he bit Martin. "Thank you," he said, sounding drunk.

Martin said nothing and continued to press the handkerchief against his arm to stem the bleeding.


	6. Chapter 6

When Douglas got home, he didn't get out of his car. He turned off the engine and leaned back into his chair, contemplating what just happened.

He didn't regret what he did. Starving halfway to death was so worth getting the chance to taste that blood again. For twenty minutes Douglas sat in his car, simply replaying that sensation over and over in his head. The warmth, the texture, the taste- all of it was so wonderful. It was no wonder Dracula gone mad. If Mina's blood tasted as good as Martin's, if hers tasted _better_... the thought was too incredible to believe.

But as the fantasies and the warmth inside Douglas slowly dimmed, he knew this couldn't go on forever.

Though it's been nearly four weeks since the first bite, Martin has not fully recovered. The human body needed _months_ in order to replenish the blood its lost. Douglas could not be feeding on Martin every fortnight.

Even if Martin was willing to offer, that was not a permanent solution either. At some point Martin will die. Either from an accident, old age, disease, or from any of the million other ways humans died from. And once Martin was dead, so was Douglas.

Douglas gave a harsh little giggle. When he first met his young captain, he thought to himself, 'this boy is going to be the death of me.' Douglas meant in regards to Martin's flying skills.

Goddamn fucking irony.

With that little sad thought in his head, Douglas dragged himself out of his car. In the next couple of weeks, he was going have to come to a decision. Either he could keep trying to find an alternative to Martin's blood or-

Douglas stopped just at the entrance of his home. The front of his door had been kicked in.

Whoever did it only kicked it once, breaking the lock like it was made out of glass instead of brass. The doorknobs hanged precariously off the frame, barely holding onto the splintered wood.

With one finger on the door, Douglas slowly pushed it open. He stepped into his home quietly, his eyes darting to his living room first. That's where he had his flat screen tv and where he'd last left his laptop. But no, his expensive items were untouched.

He heard clattering noises coming from his kitchen. So the thieves were still here? Exactly what were they after from his _kitchen?_ He had nothing of value there. His applainces were not worth breaking and entering.

Douglas considered calling the police. He pulled out his phone, thumbing it on, then reconsidered.

When was the last time he had a _good fistfight?_ Renewed by Martin's blood, Douglas felt young and powerful. He could run a hundred miles right now if he wanted. The thought of splitting his knuckles on someone's jaw sent tingles down his back. Maybe after he gave this little thief a proper lesson in respecting people's homes, Douglas should hunt out an underground boxing match. Get his mind off Martin for a while.

He turned the corner into his kitchen, expecting some young punk.

It wasn't a thief.

It was Jules, and he was raiding Douglas' fridge. "Jules?"

His sire ignored him and pulled out the jug full of cow blood from the fridge. Douglas had bought it this morning, fresh from the slaughter, hoping newly spilt blood would make a difference. (It didn't.)

Douglas watched as Jules tried to take a drink, gagged, and immediately spat it out upon Douglas' clean, white linolieum floors. He dropped the jug, allowing it to spill everywhere, and dug even further into the fridge, reaching for the various bottles of goat and pig's blood.

"Jules," Douglas said again, a little more cautiously. He stepped into the kitchen, placing down his phone on the table as he slowly inched his way to his sire. "Are you alright?"

Jules popped open a bottle of pig's blood. He sniffed it. "Where is he?"

"Where's who?"

"THE GINGER!" He screamed, twisting and throwing the bottle hard, shattering it against the wall. "Where is he, Douglas? Where is he, I need to find him."

Jules was over two thousand years old. He has tasted blood from every continent, every country at least three times now. Douglas assumed his sire had tasted better blood than Martin's by now. In two thousand years, how could Jules never come across such a delicacy?

Douglas did consider Jules could've been ruined by Martin's blood, but _surely_ his sire had a his own surplus of delicious humans hidden somewhere. Apparently not.

"The man you gave me as a gift?" Douglas said, carefully. "He's dead. I drained him later that night."

Douglas was startled to see Jules crying. This man once bragged about fighting lions in the Coliseum, taking on the armies of Genghis Khan and Napoleon. Now here he was, reduced to crying like a babe because his favourite food wasn't available to him anymore.

"No..." Jules whined, staring up at the ceiling like he expected God to do something about it. "No... do... do you still have his body?"

"I'm afraid not. I burnt it. Why? What's going on?"

Jules reached into the fridge again, grabbing another red bottle. He took a small sip, grimaced, and dropped the bottle immediately. "I'm ruined," he sobbed, shaking his head. "His blood ruined me. I can't... did he tell you anything before you killed him? Did he have... a brother? Kids, maybe?"

Douglas was proud to say he has NEVER fed on a child. He may be a monster of legend, but even he had standards. "He didn't say."

" _Fuck_ ," Jules snarled. Strings of unwanted blood dribbled down his fuzzed chin as he spoke. "Why are you...? Why aren't you like me? You tasted him too!"

"I'll admit he tasted divine," Douglas said. "But not to the point of ruination. Taste runs differently from vampire to vampire, you know."

Jules whimpered. "Then what am I suppose to do?"

"I'm so sorry, Jules," Douglas said. He meant it. Though Jules was an annoying, vapid, overly-dramatic vampire, he's been the one constant in Douglas' life. It wasn't sad, Douglas decided, that their relationship was ending this way, but it was so uneventful. Instead of going out in a ball of fire, blood, and glory, their endless existence was going to peter out like a dying flame; small, and unnoticeable.

It wasn't sad. It was pathetic.

"Oh Douglas," Jules said, coming around the blood-soaked table. His arms were out, expecting a hug. "I didn't think it would end like this..."

Douglas didn't want to hug him. The man's shirt was covered in blood and probably spittle. Douglas didn't want to get that on him. Grimacing, he opened his arms and allowed Jules to come in for the hug. He made a slight face as he felt the wet, stickiness press against his chest, soaking onto his front.

He patted Jules' back awkwardly when he heard his phone whistled, signaling a text. He ignored it, thinking it was the phone company reminding him to update his apps.

Jules suddenly stiffened in his arms. His sniffling and sobbing ceased. Confused, Douglas turned his head to see Martin's picture light up on his phone screen.

 _Hope you're feeling better,_ said the text just as the screen went dark. _PS, you owe me._

Oh god.

"Jules-" Douglas started.

The hands on his sides tightened, fingers digging in sharply. "You lied to me..." Jules breathed.

In the next instant all ten fingers stabbed inwards. There was no resistance, not by the shirt, flesh or bone. They slipped in more easily than a hot knife to butter. It happened so fast, the pain didn't register in Douglas' mind until Jules raised his arms, his fingers right in between Douglas' ribs, lifting him up into the air.

The longest of his digits punctured Douglas' lungs, preventing his ability to scream. Douglas threw his head back, mouth gaped opened, fangs in full view, his eyes screwed shut as he jerked uselessly in Jules' grip.

"YOU," Jules screamed, pressing in even further, snapping the ribs one by one. "LIED TO ME!"

He twisted and threw Douglas across the kitchen. Douglas slammed into the cabinets, smashing them into smithereens. Dishes and cups and other glassware shattered under his mass, and as he fell to his blood-soaked floor, glass rained upon him from above.

"Mine..." Jules snarled, grabbing the phone. He turned for the door. "Mine, mine, mine, mine, mine, mine, mine, MINE."


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Major character death

There were ten tiny holes in his torso. His ribs were broken. One of his lungs collapsed. Glass shards as big as his hand were imbedded into his back. If Douglas was human, he would either be dead from bleeding out, blunt force trauma, or drowning on his own blood.

But he wasn't human. Wounds like these will not kill him, only slow him down.

That didn't mean it didn't hurt. He could feel his ribs rubbing against each other, hear his own wheezing breath pass through the holes on his side. As Douglas achingly pushed himself up from the floor, the glass in his back shifted, some digging in further while others slipped out and shattered on the blood covered floor.

He used the table to help himself to his feet. He trembled, his legs shaking uncertainly, fearing he could collapse under his own weight. It was only due to having a fresh supply of blood today Douglas could stand at all. If he was were starving, there was a good chance he would still be on the floor.

But he shouldn't stand there, licking his wounds. Jules was going after Martin. If he found him, he'd drain him instantly. Jules then would go to Martin's family, killing them one by one, testing to see if they too carried the same delicious blood. Jules was not above killing children, not even newborns. As far as Douglas knew, Martin had a niece and a nephew, both under the age of ten.

Douglas forced himself out of his kitchen. He stumbled to his broken front door and once he got outside, he noticed Jules had stolen his car.

_That son of a bitch._

"Douglas?"

Douglas whipped his head to the side. Standing there, eyes wide in horror, was his neighbour, George. In his hand he held his own set of car keys and his phone, already raised to his ear. Douglas could barely hear the emergency dispatcher on the other line. George probably just came home from work, saw Jules taking off and decided to do the right thing.

What a sweet guy. Not many people were willing to get involved enough to call to the police. It made Douglas feel bad knowing he was going have to rob him.

Two minutes later Douglas was peeling out of the neighbourhood in a blue, slightly used Honda Accord. George was screaming obscenities behind him, shaking his fist, then turned to run back into the house to, no doubt, now call the police on Douglas.

That was assuming the traffic police didn't get to him first. The moment Douglas got onto the main road, he slammed the pedal to the floor, weaving in and out of lanes, cutting off cars left and right. With one eye on the road, he thumbed in the number for Martin's phone.

Thankfully, Martin picked up. _"Hello?"_

"Martin!" Douglas said. "You need to get out of your flat, now! Jules knows you're still alive and he's coming to eat you!"

_"Jules... you mean that vampire who kidnapped me in the first place? How does he-?"_

"Because he came over tonight, looking for you, and he saw your contact in my phone. Now, stop talking and get out of there! Don't pack your things, just get out of there!"

_"Alright... thank god it's the summer, so I'm the only one here, but... where should I go?"_

"Do you remember that picnic last year when Arthur nearly poisoned us all? Go there. I'll meet with you."

Last year in June, Arthur decided to throw a company picnic. He said they never had one- because, his mother pointed out, there were only the four of them- and he wanted to throw one. It could have been a nice day, except Arthur left the food in the sun while he tried setting up the volleyball net. In the end the food spoiled, and Arthur sprained his wrist when it got caught in the net. Carolyn took him to the hospital, leaving Douglas and Martin to clear away the rotten food and exploded cans of coke.

Douglas got to the park in record time. Martin was already there waiting for him.

"Douglas!" Martin gasped, running to him. "You're covered in blood!"

"I'm fine, it's pig blood." He didn't bother to mention one of his ribs was sticking out from a finger-sized hole in his side. "Listen. This is what you need to do: get your family and hide. Don't tell anyone where you're going, just go. Say anything you need to say to get yourself and your family to a safe place, got it?"

"Oh, oh god..." Martin whined. He raised a worried hand to run through his hair, giving Douglas a better look at the white gauze tapped over the bite mark. Two tiny drops of blood managed to soak through. "For how long?"

"Only a week. He tasted your blood too, remember? He's starving to death and he only has, maybe, three more days before he collpases completely."

The hand in Martin's hair dropped down, touching the baby blue ascot covering his neck. "Alright," he said, sounding sick. "I can't think of a reason to make Simon and Caitlin go, but-"

He stopped talking. His eyes were looking past Douglas, and his mouth opened in horror. Douglas twisted around.

Jules walked towards them in a menacing manner. His back was hunched, so with every step he took, his head swayed from side to side like an animal. His hair was disheveled, and his pupils were dilated so much his eyes looked black. There was possibly more blood on him than on Douglas.

He held up the stolen phone. "Password protected," Jules growled, then snapped the phone in half in between his fingers and tossing it to the side. "I came back to torture you for the information, but behold, I saw you driving away. So clever, Douglas, always so clever. Now..."

Suddenly Jules was a blur, a wisp of wind, moving so fast Douglas could barely respond. He brought up his battered, bruised arms just in time to block Jules' from kicking him in the face. The force of the blow was still enough to send Douglas flying, and he was thrown back nearly forty feet away.

Martin cried out in alarm. "Doug-!"

In the next breath Jules was behind him, grabbing a fistful of hair and jerked his head back, exposing his neck. "GAH!"

"So lovely," Jules cooed, ignoring Martin's flailing arms to push him away. Jules reached up and slowly undid the ascot from around Martin's neck. He swiftly pulled it off and tossed it to the side, a rather gentle pre-gesture to the violence he was about inflect. "So lovely..."

He slipped his hand inside Martin's collar, tugging it down to reveal his throat better.

There was a noise like greasy, boiling fat popping on a hot grill, and Jules suddenly yanked his hand back, screaming in pain. A wavy line was burnt deeply into his palm, turning the surrounding skin pitch black. Smoke rose from the burning wound and he released his grip on Martin's hair to gingerly cradle his arm as he wailed in agony.

Martin stumbled away, tripping and falling to his knees. The silver chain he wore swung into view, catching the light of the moon.

 _"You fucking ginger,"_ Jules snarled, viciously baring his teeth even as he continued to hold his burning hand. _"I'm going to rip your arm off and drink from the stump!"_

He advanced on Martin, his good arm reaching out, when Douglas suddenly tackled him from the side, and the two went down, kicking and spitting.

"Run, Martin!" Douglas yelled. "RUN!"

It didn't matter Douglas had a full stomach of delicious, life-giving blood while Jules was only days away from withering into a mummy. Jules had over two thousand years of strength and rage on his side. At one point he slammed Douglas onto his back and climbed on, straddling him.

With his hands curled like claws, Jules began slashing downward, taking off chunks of clothes, flesh and blood with every swipe. Douglas held his arms up to protect his face, but he might as well be holding a piece of cardboard to use as his defense. His vision was nothing but red, his own blood splattering his face, his mouth; in another second he was gong to feel his intestines ripped out and strewn across the grassy field of this park-

He blinked, shaking away the droplets of blood obscuring his vision, and in the moment he saw Jules raise his arm again to slash at him, Martin rushed into view. He had the silver chain held in between his fists, and he slipped it over Jules' head like piano wire, pulling it taunt against his neck.

Jules squealed in surprise, and he reared back off of Douglas, his hands scrambling up to his neck to remove the silver. Horrible smoke and the sound of bubbling fat got louder and louder as Martin hung on to dear life, dragging Jules back, wrenching the chain every time Jules tried to slip under.

The silver dug further and further in, burning through flesh loudly. With a final cry, Martin wrenched the chain as hard as he could to the left and up. In a haze of smoke and fluttering grey ash, Jules' head was ripped clean off from his body.

The head flew dramatically over Martin's shoulder, twisting like a top, smoke still pouring from the stump until it landed dully upon the grass. It swayed from side to side, then stilled. Jules' angry black eyes were still open, but the last expression on his face was of pure surprise.

 

 

 

 

 

"So now what?" Martin asked. The front of his shirt was stained black from the ash. He hadn't noticed yet but the hair from the back of his head where Jules had gripped him stood out at an angle.

Douglas stared at his arms. The slash marks were healing already and in another hour they would be gone completely. He huffed and stared out across the empty park. "Now... now I take Jules' body and find a quiet place to burn it. After that, well..."

Douglas didn't think this would come so soon. He wished he was more prepared for it.

He turned to Martin. He held out his hand. "It's been a privilege, Captain."

Martin jerked. He stepped away from the outstretched hand, confused. "What are you talking about?"

"I stole my neighbour's phone and his car. I'm sure the police are now questioning the bloody mess in my home. There's blood in the car. There's blood in MY car. The police are probably looking for me now, and there's still a chance they'll find me, with Jules' body in the backseat."

"I have my van," Martin said. "We can put the body in my-"

"Then what?" Douglas asked. "Other vampires are going to question Jules' sudden disappearance. Because of this battle, I need to feed again to regain my strength."

Martin went to his arm, grabbing at the gauze. Douglas stilled his hand. "Stop," he said. "You've already lost too much blood and if I keep feeding on you like this, you'll become anemic."

"So what, that's it then? You're just going to go off and die?"

"Yes."

"No," Martin snapped. "It can't end like this, with you going off by yourself like-like-like an elephant or something! What about Carolyn? What about Arthur? We can't fly with only one pilot! We can figure this out, we can..."

Tears welled up in his eyes. He kept shaking his head in denial.

Lord, Douglas wanted to hug him. There were many things he wanted to do, to say, but he could hear sirens off in the distance, coming in this direction. They didn't have time.

Martin wiped at his cheeks. He sniffled, and looked up.

He held out his hand for Douglas to take.

Brave, strong Martin. Very few could say they killed a vampire. All he had in ways of a weapon was a small, delicate necklace given to him by his mother. He didn't hesitate, he didn't scream, and yet it was the idea of losing a friend that drove him to tears. In six hundred years, Douglas has never met anyone like him.

"The privilege," Martin said as Douglas took his hand. "Was all mine."

 

 

 

 

 

 

The very next day, the one known as Douglas Richardson was never seen again.

Everyone at the airport was questioned by the police. When informed Douglas had stolen a car, some mentioned Douglas was a thrill seeker and the possibility he'd took a car for a joy ride was not that farfetched of a possibility.

Martin noted the investigators never once mentioned the blood in Douglas' home. He wondered if they already knew the blood was animal or if they were holding onto the possibility Douglas was actually a serial killer. Beyond a small article in the local newspaper talking of Douglas' disappearance, nothing else has been mentioned.

Martin, Carolyn and Arthur spent a quiet afternoon in Gerti, drinking Talisker whiskey and playing word games.

 

 

 

 

 

 

A month later, Martin got a letter in the mail.

It had no return address, and there was a suspicious bulge from inside, but that didn't matter; Martin knew who it was from. He recognized the handwriting.

He waited till he got back to his attic, closing and locking the door behind him. He quickly opened the envelope and inside besides the folded letter was a key with an orange head and a number printed in white. It looked like one of those keys people got when renting a locker at the pool.

The letter read:

_Martin,_

_When I about four hundred years old, I went to see a play about an immortal man. he had sold his soul to the devil to gain immortality and was surprised why the devil would make such a deal. After all, if he couldn't die, he couldn't go to hell. So this man did whatever he wanted without consequence and for the first half of the play, was perfectly happy. But as time slowly progressed, he realized how terrible this deal was. He married, had kids, and he had to watch them die. His home, his civilization, his country all slowly crumpled away until there was nothing left. The play ended with him wandering the earth forever, unknown and unloved._

_It was actually a pretty terrible play. Two of the actors were drunk and only half of the cast knew their lines. But you can imagine what I am trying to get at._

_When you've been around as long as I have, death and life becomes so intertwined you often forget when one ends and when one begins._

_No, I didn't want to die. I still wanted to see when humans inhabited Mars. I wanted to see flying cars, instant teleportation and all that Star Trek stuff. But like all things, the end came when I least expected it._

_I don't regret my life, Martin. I don't regret meeting you, or Arthur or Carolyn. I don't regret the decisions that have led me here. These past five years I have spent with you three have been one of the most loveliest, pleasant times of my existence._

_If I have any advice to give, it's this: have more fun. I mean it, Martin. You're too young to be acting so old. Give yourself a break sometimes, alright?_

_Best regards,_

_-First Officer Douglas Richardson_

_PS. I think I may have left a rotting banana underneath your chair. Just FYI._

"You..." Martin started. He couldn't bring himself to curse, not even in the privacy of his own room. He was not going to cry. He's spent this whole month mourning Douglas, he didn't want to start that again. He needed a break.

Instead, he held up the orange key. There was an address attached to it.

An hour later Martin was driving up to a personal storage unit system just a few miles shy outside of Otterly Saint Mary. When he showed the employees the key, they simply took him down a long row of locked units until they got to the one that held the key's number.

They told him he could take as much time as he wanted, then left him alone to explore.

Martin had no idea what was behind that sliding gate. During the ride over he'd fantasized it was Douglas, hiding away. He knew it was a silly concept, and yet a small trickle of hope still sat in his heart as he undid the padlock.

He raised the gate and stepped inside the dark unit.

The very first thing to struck him was the smell of dust and wood. All around him were wooden crates, ranging from hip to chest high. Piled on top of those were small sealed cardboard boxes. Pushed against the wall were eight foot metal shelves, and Martin went to those first. In order to open these crates he needed a crowbar and a box cutter; both of which were in his van, parked in the front of the building.

The very first thing he saw on one metal shelf was a picture frame. Martin picked it up angled it to catch the outside light.

It was black and white photo of Douglas. He was wearing a WWII uniform.

"Oh my god, Douglas!" Martin giggled, cupping a hand over his mouth. If Martin didn't know better, he would say this was one of those costume-photos people got from the fair.

There were other photos. Black and white photos, dulled, yellow photos, some poloroids, and fairground pictures. Most of them were pictures of people Martin didn't recognize. When he turned them over, written on the back were names and dates. The handwriting was Douglas'.

So this whole storange unit was filled with Douglas' past? These were sentimential items, things filled with stories only Douglas would know. Why would he wanted Martin to have this? To clean it out?

As Martin trailed down past the shelves, only touching the occasional odd nicknack, he stopped in front of a small chest. It was an old chest, looking like a prop from a Treasure Island movie. It wasn't locked. He opened it, expecting more pictures.

Martin gasped. The whole chest was filled with _gold_. No, he thought. _Doubloons_. He picked one gold piece up, bringing it up to the light, and the imprinted year 1789 was clearly seen.

Holy crap, Martin mentally hissed, twirling around. He pocketed the gold piece and stared wildly at the rest of the crates. What _else_ was in here?

Ten minutes later he was back in the storage unit with a torch, a box cutter and a crowbar.

After he pried the tops off the crates, he found them filled with furniture, wine, paintings, vases, swords, and more gold. The boxes had clothing, first edition books, money from different parts of the world, elegant glassware, documents, and yes, even more gold.

Once he was done, Martin slumped to the ground, gripping his hair. He'd promised himself he wouldn't cry, but crying in happiness was a lot different than mourning. As he sobbed, he giggled and laughed in disbelief, thanking his friend over and over, and wishing he could see him one more time

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In the end, Martin donated most of the items. He had no idea what to do with the paintings, clothing or furniture, so he gave them all to London's history museum. He gave them anonymously to avoid having his face getting on the news. For the other items, he found more than enough buyers on the internet for them. The wine went first, followed by the books and vases. The gold was a little harder to sell, but he learned quickly if he sold them bit by bit, he stayed under the radar and no one questioned their worth.

Within a month he went from living on fifty pounds a week to having nearly half a million sitting in his bank account. There was still so much more he could sell, but for now he was taking a break. Maybe in another year or two, he could start selling them again.

The very first thing he bought with his newfound wealth was pure silver jewelry. He bought rings, earrings, necklaces and bracelets for his entire family and for Arthur and Carolyn. When his family asked where the money came from, Martin simply said he got a raise at work.

When Carolyn asked, Martin told her they were family heirlooms from a recently deceased aunt. Arthur didn't mind, he wore the rings happily. He said it made him feel regal.

Martin kept an eye on the news, wondering if any vampires were investigating Douglas' and Jules' sudden disappearance. As an extra precaution, in his new flat, Martin placed silver picture frames on every window still. Douglas' WWII photo sat right next his MJN photo, both encased in the purest silver Martin could find.

Then about seven months later, Carolyn called Martin into her office.

"Ah, Martin," Carolyn said as soon as he entered. "I want you to meet someone. This is Daniel Rogers. He's here for the First Officer position. Daniel, this is our Captain, Martin Crieff."

Daniel stood up from his chair. He was a very tall, very strong looking man. He had perfectly combed blond hair, striking blue eyes, and when Martin entered, his gaze immediately fell on the pale scar on Martin's neck. "It's very nice to meet you, Captain," he said smoothly, sticking out a hand to shake. He smiled and it was all teeth.

"It's very nice to meet you too," Martin said. He reached out, purposely twisting his arm to catch the light on his silver watch and rings.

Daniel immediately snatched his arm back. His smile dropped off his face. "Forgive me," he said. "I... recently had a cold and I am still recovering from it. I don't want you to catch it."

"Not a problem," Martin said, pulling his arm back. "So am I here to interview you as well?"

Before Carolyn could open her mouth to explain, Daniel shook his head and said, "I'm afraid in the few minutes I've been here, I realize this is not the airline for me. I apologize for wasting everyone's time."

He left swiftly, barely giving anyone in the room a second glance. Once the door was closed, Carolyn huffed and stood up from her chair, angrily sprouting off, "What the hell was that? Before you came in, he was all smiles and eager energy! He was practically salivating at the chance of woking here."

"No idea," said Martin. His hand came up to absently scratch at his collarbone, allowing his fingers to brush against the silver chain hidden under his clothes. "But I'll find out."


End file.
